


Swagger and Bull

by Rhanon_Brodie



Category: Arctic Monkeys, British Singers RPF
Genre: Alley Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Female Ejaculation, Fingering, I can't believe I POSTED this, Oral Sex, She calls him Aly because she can, Why Did I Write This?, oh my god I can't believe I wrote this, sex in an alley, sex in an alley with Aly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 10:53:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2022465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhanon_Brodie/pseuds/Rhanon_Brodie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"When you’re you, and I’m me, everything else is on hold, and that’s just as addictive as when you’re playing to fifty thousand people, and they’re all hanging on your every word."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swagger and Bull

**Author's Note:**

> All recognizable elements herein are the property of their respective owners. The remaining content is mine. I make no assumptions about knowing anything about Alex Turner, or the Arctic Monkeys, beyond their music. 
> 
> TOTAL AND COMPLETE PWP. This is pretty explicit by most standards, so if you're not down with oral, female ejaculation, fingering, or questionable Sheffield dialects, just turn back now, okay?

“To be perfectly honest with you, love, I’m surprised to see you here.” The click of a lighter comes next, and then the burst of a flame, and your cigarette is lit. Then, the lighter is snapped closed, and you’re all black leather and shadows: your cheekbones could cut, your nose is straight, and aquiline, and your eyes deep, and endless. The only color is the blazing cherry red end of your cigarette. Even your voice is dark, and sweet.

It’s not that I don’t like watching you perform - I do, really. It’s addictive, like a drug, like an aphrodisiac, but your swagger and bull is just that: a person you play. You’re not like that when you’re curled up under a duvet with the rain pouring down outside, lazily trailing your fingers through my hair, nor are you like that when we’re out alone, walking with no real purpose, and stopping off for a pint in a shabby pub. You’re just yourself, and it’s a rare thing for anyone else to see. I treasure those moments, all of them really, but when you’re you, and I’m me, everything else is on hold, and that’s just as addictive as when you’re playing to fifty thousand people, and they’re all hanging on your every word.

I shrug, leaning against the brick to stare up into what I can see of the night sky. But it’s London, and it’s raining, so there’s nothing more than thick cloud. You add to it as you exhale smoke, and look up with me.

“You invited me,” I reply, stealing a quick glance.

You lean next to me, one foot propped against the wall in your Teddy-Boy glory. Your hair is in wild disarray, the longer length curling where it twists down over your widow’s peak, the sides gelled back, and your skin gleaming from the damp heat of the club.

“Hmm,” you nod, glancing at me, your mouth going goofy. “Thanks for comin’, then.” You know my feelings on seeing you perform, and I know you’re appreciative of my attendance tonight.

“Sure,” I reply, trying to sound like nothing you do affects me when, in fact, just the lazy, rolling lilt of the Sheffield accent is enough to make me quiver. I pass it off as a shiver from the breeze, and stuff my hands into my wool coat, wrapping it around my body.

“We can go in, if ya like,” you say, nodding towards the back door.

“I’m fine,” I insist. My ears are still ringing, but I’m high from your show.

We watch each other for a little while longer, and finally you push away from the wall and pitch your cigarette with a smart flick of your fingertips. Then, you’re digging your comb out from your back pocket and dragging back the sides of your hair, pursing your lips and giving me a raised eyebrow as you do. “How do I look?”

I sigh and shrug. “Like a teenage dream.”

You frown. “M’twenty eight, love.”

“Tell it to the fangirls.” I wink.

“You don’t like it?” You look down at your dark wash jeans, to where they’re turned up with a cuff over your ankle boots, and then smooth your hands down the front of your white-button up that’s actually unbuttoned down to the middle. Hooking a thumb into your ornate Kawasaki belt buckle makes me swallow thickly; it’s like you’re flashing a sign that says ‘follow me.’ The gold chain resting on the points of your collarbones glints overhead, and you look up at me from under dark eyebrows.

“I never said that,” I breathe, watching as you licks your lips.

“Gimme a kiss, then.”

I scoff. “You’re nutters,” I quip, throwing out the colloquial term like it’s old hat.

You laugh softly. “You’re adorable.”

I wrinkle my nose. “Lambs are adorable.”

“Hmmm...give me a kiss anyway, lamb.”

You’ve closed the distance between us, and you’re standing so close that I can smell the leather of your jacket, the warmth of your sweat where it clings to your skin, your cologne, your laundry detergent, cigarette smoke, and stout. I know I’ve had one too many lagers as you move again, this time letting your mouth hover over mine for a scant second, before the tip of your tongue flashes out and catches my bottom lip.

“You taste good,” you whisper, before pressing your mouth against mine.

The kiss is soft, sweet, and lingers just a little, enough to make my heart pound, enough to make me whimper into your mouth, and you smile against me, your fingertips steady and sure as you push my hair from my eyes. When you pull back with a sensual, wet suck to my bottom lip, I shudder and fall back against the wall, unaware that I’ve even leaned away from it.

You bite your bottom lip, and glance about the stage door where we stand. It’s deserted, save for us, and you dive in again, this time finding my throat with your mouth as long, graceful fingers skim into my coat and land on my waist, squeezing gently.

I breathe your name, catching a fistful of gloriously thick, borderline black hair at the nape of your neck, and you hum again, your tongue flashing along my throat until it swipes under my ear. Your fingers are busy, too, inching up the sides of my skirt until the length is bunched around my waist. You skim the front of my panties, moaning softly at the damp heat you find.

“That for me, babeh?” You voice is gossamer against my skin, and I can hear the expectant lilt in your words. You hum, enforcing your question with a twist of your wrist until your fingers are tucked between my thighs, and your thumb is gently pressing against cotton.

“No, it’s for Helders,” I answer wryly, hooking my hands around your neck, smiling as you chuckle.

“Helders is a git,” you reply with a wink. Licking your lips once more, you glance around the immediate area again, and then your fingertips flutter against the skin on the tops of my thighs. “Want ya,” you announce, ducking your head and kissing my jaw.

“Yes,” I nod, swallowing thickly at how your touch makes me tremble and sweat. I want you just as much, but I’m hard pressed to believe you’ll follow through at this exact moment. You’re not one for public displays of anything beyond your stage persona, preferring quiet hotel rooms, early mornings in my kitchen, or late nights on your settee. So, when your fingers glide back up the front of my panties and then hook into the waistband and tug the front of them down, it’s more than enough to make me whimper, and my fingers clutch your shoulders as my teeth sink into my tongue. I hold my breath, wondering what you’re up to.

You do that thing with your mouth, where you purse your lips and cock your jaw and you’re halfway between a sneer and smirk. Your eyes are obsidian, glittering in the lights overhead, and you plant one hand firmly on the brick wall behind me, leaning back to watch my face, and my body, as your other hand slips down. Teasing me open, my breath leaves me in a sharp sigh as your fingertips find find my clit and squeeze, barely touching, not enough pressure. I feel brick beneath my palms as I hold myself up and push my hips towards you. I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I like it, and I wonder if maybe that cheeky lad you usually leave behind when the microphone is silenced has somehow followed you offstage.

You name floats up between us again, and then again, as I chant it softly, my belly fluttering with hot, pulsing waves of lust as your eyes narrow and focus, watching as my own eyes widen with surprise.

“There’s me good girl,” you praise softly, increasing the pressure of your fingers by just a fraction. 

You’re not really one to talk much, either, and are more inclined to hum, and sigh, and whine, and grunt. My eyes flutter closed at your simple phrase, and my spine arches as I feel another glorious spike of lust rocket through my veins. I nod frantically, circling my hips into your touch, and I hear you purr with approval. Leaving off with one finger, your middle finger slides right down, the tip circling the now tight, wet entrance of my pussy. Here you push, sinking in just an inch, then slowly moving out. In again, and out, curling up against the top wall of the slick, hot channel, and flicking your finger against me until I’m humping your hand in the alley, and biting my lip to keep from crying out.

The way you’re working me, I know I’m going to come wetly, and I know you know it, too. It’s something of a fetish for you, really. The first time I’d come like that, with you, in a hot, bursting rush, you shook more than I did, and you moaned even louder. You’d never really had any experience with it personally, but now you can’t get enough of it. Everytime we’re together, you make it a mission to make sure I come hard, gushing wetly on your fingers, or your tongue, before you take yours.

But this, out here in the crisp, fall air, right out the back door where any one of the boys can wander and see us, is new, and instead of voicing any commentary on it not being the usual thing, I hold my tongue, until you kiss me again. There is more urgency, and your pace quickens inside of me, setting me aflame and making stars burst in my vision. All I can do is stare up at you as you look at me with careful concentration, and when your name starts coming in gasps and sighs and moans from my lips, you smile, and nod, and reply with your own mantra: “Good girl, come for me, yeah? Such a lovely bit when you come, darling.”

When I start to thrash against the wall, you press yourself against me, leaning your forearm against the wall next to my head, and your hips pin your hand against me. With a wicked grin, you watch as I quickly come undone with a shuddering cry. You hiss sharply, your fingers sliding around the slick wetness, rubbing it back into my pussy.

“God, you’re soaking, love.” You hum, and then growl triumphantly, your eyes widening more with excitement. “Got to get you back to mine, on me bed, take me time with you.”

Still coming down from my peak, I shake my head as your words finally fit together in my brain. It’s not that I don’t want to go home with you; I anticipate our evening eventually ending up there, wrapped up in the sheets, the blackout blinds keeping the rest of the world at bay for a while, but I’m afraid if I let you take me home now, then the energy that is pulsing between us will dissipate. I’m not ready to let my cheeky bugger go yet, and I shake my head against the brick, grabbing the front of your jacket and pulling you close.

“No,” I sigh, pushing my lips to yours in a hot, wet kiss. You return it with as much enthusiasm, your fingers still deep in my panties, stroking against over-sensitive skin. “No, here, please, I want you here. Anything, just...just do something. Please.” I sound desperate, in the very best way.

And maybe it’s the tone of my voice, the aching desire in my words, that makes you rethink your plan. Eyeing me up and down, you lick your lips, and then suddenly, you’re falling to your knees, wedging your shoulder between my thighs while your fingers curl into either side of my panties and pull them down. Little flicks of your tongue dance along my thighs, and the inside of my knees, as inch by inch you drag the scrap of cotton down, until you have to pull back, and slide one foot from a leg hole. The cold air hits my overheated flesh, and I shiver, sucking in a whimper as my fingers twine in your hair. I whisper your name again, nodding as you look up at me, your eyes impossibly black, and endless. 

You give me no warning before you dive in, and your tongue plunges deep into my wetness with a firm, smooth stroke that makes me cry out sharply. I inhale a ragged breath, push my hips into your face, and ride, staring up at the heavy clouds. Your fingers curl into my ass, holding me to your mouth as you moan against my pussy, the sound deep and vibrating me right to my core. You are voracious, devouring me with burning urgency, fingers prying me open as you lean back and flick your tongue around my clit before switching to broad, deep strokes that I can feel from my toes up. My belly is liquid, and everything is swirling in a hot, tight ball of pleasure that is aching for relief. In the frenzy, you slide your fingers back into the mix, pumping deep, and slow, hard, pulling against nerves until the heel of my boot skitters on the pavement, and your name comes out in a choppy wail.

“Give it me good,” you hiss, pulling back with an obscenely wet sound. Your fingers are a blur, slipping and sliding, working all the right spots that make me tighten and jerk and sob. With a grunt, you push a third finger in, making me gasp. When my body gives in and takes what you’re giving, you groan thickly, and leave a lingering kiss on my clit, before leaning back and staring up at me. Your free hand shoves my hip against the wall, and you hold me there, fucking me senseless with your fingers, your lip curling dangerously as you urge me to come.

“All over, love, fucking come all over me hand. Wanna see it, get me wet.”

And all I can do is nod, and push my hips with your hands, and let you take me where you want me to go. It’s so good...so open, and hot, intense, and I’m probably going to tear your hair out at the roots, but I don’t care, and neither do you, because you know you’ve got me with your fingers hooked deep. You can feel it building, and I can, too. A high, keening wail erupts in my chest, and my teeth sink into my bottom lip as I let go. I come in a hot rush, blushing as it hits the pavement, and as I soak your chin, your hand, and the front of your leather jacket. Your delighted sigh makes me crazy, and I come again. Over and over, I come, your fingers never letting up. Your lips land on my thighs, sucking and licking the slick skin, humming, before you jerk your fingers inside me once more, and send me spiralling.

“That’s me girl,” you murmur, standing abruptly with your fingers still pumping gently. 

Aftershocks run through my body, and I jerk and whimper, before sucking in an excited breath at the sound of your belt buckle unhooking. You lift my leg around your hip, and step in, pressing the scorching head of your cock right against my pussy. You pull your fingers free and push your length in, making me choke on a moan while I begin to clench and shake.  
“I’m gonna shag you fucking proper,” you whisper darkly, pushing stray strands of my hair from my face.

I blink with bleary eyes, and nod dazedly, and once more find your shoulders, clutching your jacket, hanging on for the ride.

You pull your hips back, and quickly slam into me deeply, groaning as you bottom out. “You’ve a perfect cunt,” you hiss, finding a rhythm that suits you.

“Oh, god,” I warble, helplessly pressed between you and the brick wall at my back. I let you move me, let you take over, because I’m boneless, and the desire to please you is burning me from the inside out.

“How about you come on me cock, hmm? Show me what a good girl you is.”

Your demands make my head spin, your words curved with your accent, your voice pitched deep, your tongue flicking over consonants like it did my clit just moments before. I nod again. “Yes,” I whisper, wincing as your pull my hips down and drive up with yours. “God, yes, Aly, please. I wanna come again.”

“I bet,” you drawl, playfully smiling at my admission.

You drive your hips up again, pushing back into me, and it’s so tight that my eyes cross, and then flutter closed. You feel impossibly huge, thick, hot, and endless, and you are unforgiving in your pace, grunting, your face scant inches from mine, your eyes wild as your jaw suddenly goes slack.

“Jesus, love, m’gonna come. Gonna come deep in that cunt. You want that? Hmm? Come with me.” Tilting your hips makes me groan loudly, and I whisper frantically, yes, I want it, want you to come, fucking come, make me come, please, please, please - 

“Oh!” I cry out. “Oh god, yes, yes, yes, you fucker, fuck, Aly, yes! I’m coming,” I manage to say, because I am, my body spasming, pussy clenching your cock so tight I think I might pass out. Words leave me, because you’re coming too, with a shuddering groan, hot, and bursting, making my body quake all over again.

************************

My ears are ringing again, and it feels like I’ve been clinging to you for hours, but really it’s only seconds. Sweat is starting to cool, but I can smell sex all around us, and I wonder briefly if we might be steaming right where we’re standing in the chill London air. My fingers loosen their grip on your hair, but smooth down your neck, to your jaw, and I manage to open my eyes to find you watching me, your lip pulled between your teeth with an almost apologetic smile.

“Got carried away,” you whisper, the first tinge of a blush turning your cheeks pink.

I shake my head. “No,” I insist. “No, you...that...that was unreal.” I sound like a fool, but that’s what I’ve been reduced to. I want to weep, and laugh, and scream my utter satisfaction. “That was perfect,” I assure you, kissing your mouth and finding I can still taste myself there.

You sink into the kiss like your are prone to do, but the bruising force of my assured Teddy Boy is fading, and your lips are gentle, your tongue teasing, tentative. I know you’ve gone beyond your norm, and I know you’re unsure of how that’s going to play out, so I pull you against me, hold you tight, and languidly hum in your ear.

You chuckle at the sound, and the way it tickles you, and you set a tender kiss on my cheek before leaning back and searching my face. Your chest still rises and falls rapidly, and you stifle a groan as you shift your hips and slip free from where I still grasp you tightly from within. I let my own whimper pass over my lips, and blush, feeling absolutely out of sorts now that we’re no longer touching so intimately.

“Now can I get ya back t’mine?” You ask softly, loosening your grasp on my leg and keeping me steady as I find my footing.

“Jesus, Alex,” I sigh, combing my fingers through your hair with a placid smile. “I can’t imagine what you have in store for me after that.”

You laugh softly, ducking your head and looking towards the stage door before turning to me again. “I’ve got a few surprises up me sleeve,” you wink, before reaching to tug my skirt down my thighs. You then tuck yourself back into your jeans, fasten the buttons of the fly, and hook your belt closed. “Let’s go find out, shall we?”

**Author's Note:**

> I know he goes by 'Al', but I needed something just a little more personal, and Aly seems to suit him just fine. I don't know if Matt Helders is a git, but I think he probably can be by Alex's standards, at least. Thanks to Nmbr1fanilow for the first read, and the epic review. I hope Marksmanfem likes this; she seems to like what I do to Alex.


End file.
